


Date with Disaster

by Latinuser



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Innocent talking, Multi, Other, Unrequited Crush, hinting at abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 18:36:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13393812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latinuser/pseuds/Latinuser
Summary: “Ya ever think of … I dunno. Leavin’ her?” The question is point blank, but it isn’t the first time Harry’s said it.Karol merely gives him a dirty look. “I did! And then … she changed.”His expression twisted into an almost sneer, upper lip curling, “Did she?”





	Date with Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> I SAID I WOULD WRITE MORE KAROL AND HARRY.
> 
> So here. Have more Karol and Harry.  
> Also have more obvious crushing Harry because ooh boy hi.

Harry is quiet as he listens to Karol drone on. It’s become a past time to him. Listening to Karol. His voice has gotten deeper as he’s grown older. Never too deep that Harry found it unpleasant though. _Not like his voice_ , the voice that was uncharacteristically deep for a kid who had been seventeen. Harry likes to think he’s grown into it more, he’s broader, and taller.

Karol’s attention is snapped to Harry as he asks a question, and Harry doesn’t respond.

Because he wasn’t listening _exactly_ , he was focusing on the sound. The ups and downs and the way it fluctuates as Karol tells his stories. And now Harry’s staring in silence at Karol who’s looking at him intently. Harry’s face flushes.

“C-could ya repeat the question?”

Karol scoffs. Harry knows he doesn’t know. Just thinks Harry’s being an idiot. To be fair, Karol isn’t far off, Harry is an idiot.

An idiot Karol, for some reason, decided to stay friends with.

“I said: _I don’t think th’ accent is that bad, do you?_ Nan’s been naggin’ me about it and-“

The look that crosses Karol’s face makes Harry want to punch her. The insecurity and wiggling. Karol wiggles when he’s uncomfortable. And it makes Harry want to fix it. “Nah, it ain’t that bad, she’s over reacting.”

Harry feels his heart sink into the pits of his stomach, because he knows that look. The look that tells Harry his words were appreciated, but otherwise ignored.

Why did Karol ask if he didn’t really want to listen? No, Harry knew. He wanted someone else’s opinion. But the fact the opinion came from your best friend who _really_ did not like your choice in a girlfriend was probably taken with a good handle of salt. “C’mon, another round. On me. You can get another one’a those,” he’s waving a hand. “Fruity. Things.”

A laugh escaped Karol, and it was a soft, amused thing that Harry liked.

Because Karol tried to hide it.

Because Karol Capel _giggled_ and it was the best.

It was strange, Harry waving a hand for Bartrand to bring them another round of _whatever_ Karol wanted. Bartrand was more than happy to comply. Honestly, Harry was just pleased that Bartrand didn’t start _waxing on_ about Past Harry’s poor taste in liquor. _Past_ Harry was awful with liquor. Past Harry was more interested in getting drunk than actually tasting anything good.

Karol was now spinning the straw. Harry watched him, loose shoulders relaxed back, but a bit of a downward tilt of his lips. It wasn’t on purpose, this just was how Harry looked, and Karol got that.

Or he hoped Karol got that.

“Ya ever think of … I dunno. _Leavin_ ’ her?” The question is point blank, but it isn’t the first time Harry’s said it.

Karol merely gives him a dirty look. “I did! And then … she changed.”

His expression twisted into an almost sneer, upper lip curling, “ _Did she_?”

If Karol’s chair had been larger he’d have curled up in it. As it stood, Harry noted Karol was practically curled up in it now, bending over his drink, knees knocking the bottom of the table every now and again by accident.

“Well, yes. She did!” His argument didn’t hold water and they both knew it. Or at least Harry did. “She apologized. Sort of. Asked me ta come back.”

It really irritated Harry to watch. Karol knew it too. Harry knew Karol did because of how he acted when he brought it up. Fidgeting, eyes cast to the side. Asking that same two sentences: _Hey, want to get drinks? There’s so much paperwork everywhere and I just need out of HQ_. He never said _her_ name when he needed to complain about her. Never once uttered that _that_ was why, but Harry just knew by the way the words were said, needling him in his gut. She’d done something else.

She’d told Karol something else.

She’d demanded Karol do _something else_.

And Karol never complained. To her face.

To him though? Oh, he complained. Perhaps not in so many words, but the nervous questions, uncomfortable sitting, and finally, when he got drunk. When he got drunk, and they were both in a spot _not_ in public, Harry heard a lot.

And a lot of it was things Harry didn’t want to hear.

But he listened, anyway.

He even stayed up to play cards! Just to let him talk while they played. (He learned very quickly to _never_ play cards with Karol afterwards; Karol was too good. Didn’t matter if he was drunk it not. It was ridiculous!) The talk was long and arduous, bordering on uncomfortable with some details. Never _too much_ , but enough for Harry to know Karol wouldn’t probably remember.

Because neither of them bring it up afterwards.

And Karol still invites him out.

So Harry decides it’s best to let those sleeping dogs lie and just keep his lip zipped. He’d rather Karol tell him point-blank anyway, but he knows Karol. He’ll complain about _women being confusing_ , and that _he doesn’t get what she wants_ , and all the vague things one can say without being too hard on someone, but he won’t go into the nitty gritty details. Not unless he’s not thinking about it.

Taking a sip of the drink Bartrand got him, Harry’s face scrunches up, his nose wrinkling. It’s too sweet. He figures Bartrand got them two of whatever Karol had. The alcohol was there, Harry was sure, but he didn’t want it. So he pushed it over to Karol, “Go ahead.” He offered with a snort, “Think Bartrand fergot I ain’t as big’a fan of sweets as you.”

Karol’s eyes lit up just that moment as he tried out Harry’s drink. Apparently, it was different than Karol’s. Huh. Who’d of figured. Maybe Bartrand was just being a cheeky bastard and knew Harry wasn’t the one who wanted something to drink this evening.

“But what about you?”

Harry blinked, cocking an eyebrow, “What about me?” He ventured. “I’m fine.”

Karol gestured at where the empty beer mug had been. “I did invite _you_ out for drinks.”

“Eh, ‘m fine. Still got some paperwork ta do when I get home.”

The look on Karol’s face is borderline _betrayal_. He’s pouting, with those big wide brown eyes. Harry feels like his chest is a heavy weight on top of him in that moment.

“Oh _fine_ , fine.” The way he retorts it is in a guttural noise of complacency that Karol grins cheekily at. Harry hates it.

No. That’s a lie.

Harry wasn’t too good at lying.

He waves a hand, “Bartrand! Can ya get me somethin’ from the Tap?” A stout was preferable, but Bartrand knew Harry’s tastes. Bartrand had even memorized _Past Harry’s_ shitty tastes. But hey, who knows? Karol’s grinning like a dog at him and Harry’s side-eyeing him something fierce.

“So we talked about me.” Harry knows where this is going, and he silently wishes Karol wouldn’t go there, “What about you? Anything new? Or _anyone_?”

Harry feels uncomfortable with this. He likes his privacy. He always had in a stupidly weird, _everyone love me and notice me but only when I want to be noticed_ sort of way. It was stupid. And, as someone who now had so many eyes on him constantly … “Nah.”

He doesn’t lie.

Karol knows Harry doesn’t lie.

But it’s not because he doesn’t _want_ to. It’s because he’s bad at it. Even drunk Karol knew when Harry was lying, and Karol was teetering tipsy, but not _drunk_.

“No _body_ sharin’ my bed.”

Karol whistled, choosing to ignore Harry’s pun, “What a shame. Yer a real good guy.”

“I am, ain’t I?”

“No like, _seriously_. Why don’t you have anyone yet?”

Harry’s thought through his past dates. Most girls didn’t like him. _Too serious_. Too crass. Too … _everything_. Harry didn’t quite get it, himself. He shrugged, Bartrand rescued him by putting down the glass at that moment and Harry took to it gratefully.

“I could set ya up on a blind date?”

The offer startles Harry and he’s spitting out his drink. Coughing and hacking, there’s beer over their table and Karol’s face is scrunched in both displeasure and mild amusement.

“What’s with that reaction?”

Wiping a hand over his mouth, Harry swallowed thickly. “Sorry.” He didn’t anticipate that. To be honest? _He didn’t want that_. “Yer what? _Sixteen_? I’m twenty-one, how on Lumireis do you plan on _findin’ me a date_?” Harry could feel his chest tightening uncomfortably. _He really_ didn’t want that.

Karol was looking around for a napkin and Harry couldn’t wait for him. Not for that answer. So Harry lifted himself from his stool. “One sec.” Karol went to argue, but Harry was quicker than Karol could speak.

Harry went to the bar; he was going to ask Bartrand when something caught his eye. In the corner. A raggedy goddamn bird. A bird who _snooped_ when he had absolutely no goddamn reason to. And Harry was frustrated.

Frustrated and the idea of Karol setting him up on a date making him fidgety and just. Not okay.

So he stalked over.

Harry knew he should probably wait. Wait until the next morning before asking Raven how long he’d been there. _If_ he was even snooping. As if Raven would admit that. At least, not in words. He’d probably do that stupid _knowing_ grin and claim he had no idea what Harry was talking about, and then a not-so-subtle remark where he paraphrased _one of them_ just to get Harry’s blood running straight to his face.

Because Harry knew Raven.

Even though Raven knew Harry more.

Which was why Raven met Harry’s gaze immediately. Giving that crooked smile that Harry knew. It knew Raven knew _he_ knew that Raven was in trouble.

“Hey’a, boss.”

“What are you doing here?”

Raven took a moment, lifting up the small saucer to drink from it before taking his bottle and pouring another. Harry was twitchy. “Jus’ came in for a drink.”

“An’ I’m an idiot-“ wait no, Harry _was_ that. “-what’re you doin’ here, Raven?”

It was a long drawn out motion, one that required Raven to push his chair and rock it back on two legs. “Oh,” the sound seemed to go in for much longer than any other sound, “Ya’know. Good drink. Good people. Always _fun_ ta be here. Might even get a _date_ out of it too.”

The feeling is creeping up on Harry’s face. Flushed and hot, looking _anywhere_ but at Raven exactly. He’s too sober for this.

“Look, I dunno what you’ve heard, but-“

“Don’t matter what I’ve heard. Yer keepin’ Karol waiting.”

Harry wants to die. In that moment. In that sickeningly embarrassing moment that he _knows_ he could have avoided. But he didn’t. Because goddamn it he hated it when Raven eavesdropped on him. Turning stiffly, Harry’s walking away from the corner and Bartrand had apparently already went over to clean the table while Harry had been talking with Raven.

Karol is now looking at him.

With big brown eyes.

And he knows what Karol’s going to ask.

“Who were you talkin’ to-“

“-an idiot.”

Karol peers back in his seat. He’s probably happy the conversation veered from Nan so drastically. “I don’t see anybody.” _He wouldn’t_ , Harry supposes, he had only noticed because he had stood up and walked closer to the bar. Raven was always fond of those _pillars_ he hid behind.

Karol would probably see him as soon as they tried to leave.

“Hey, I should go.”

Harry didn’t want to look at Karol’s big brown eyes. He didn’t want Karol to get so drunk he started talking about the sex or the shouting or the rest of it.

A soft, slightly cool, hand touched Harry’s and it felt electric. Harry hadn’t been paying attention. Snapping up his head to look at Karol, the way the other’s mouth pressed firmly together, watching him. “If you don’t want me to find you a date, you could just say so.”

Karol …

“It’s not that.” It _isn’t_. Not entirely. “Thanks, fer the offer. But I do have a lotta paperwork to do and I must be gettin' old cuz I’m starting to drift off.” He’s not looking at Karol. Harry _can’t_ look at Karol. He’s begging the fact his hair is covering his ears hides the flush he knows is there. Everything in him is burning.

“Then … tomorrow. We can have a double date. I’ll bring Nan, and yer blind date. It’ll be fun!”

Harry wishes he could hate the hopeful lilt of Karol’s tone. He knows why Karol is pushing now. It’s because he wants to know he didn’t go too far. Harry looked up, finally meeting big brown eyes that looked way too worried for him. Worried if they’d done something wrong. _Harry wants to fix it_.

“I’d like that.”

He would. Because that makes Karol smile.

Harry’s own is a weak lopsided grin.

“But seriously, now I gotta head out. Raven’s old man bones must be contagious ‘cuz I am exhausted.”

Karol nods in understanding. He’s bubbling in excitement. Karol never got to see Harry on dates, rarely got to see Harry’s _dates_ at all. So he’s excited.

Harry knows that’s all it’s about.

But his stomach is clenching like someone just stabbed him and he’s standing up. “I’m gonna go pay, you think ya can be responsible enough t’not drink too much more and make it home?” The look Karol gives him is a pout. As if Harry was wrong.

They end the night off on a high note, with Harry grabbing his drink and cheersing it for ‘tomorrow night’ and downs it. He pays, the gald is enough to get Karol a couple more drinks. He makes one final stop to Raven and asks him to keep an eye out. Just in case Karol wasn’t responsible.

Raven says _he always does_ and that makes a weird knot twist in Harry’s stomach, but he doesn’t voice it. The look on Raven’s face says he doesn’t have to. And he’s gone. Leaving Sagittarius and going back to his home where he opens and shuts the door, locks it, then heads to bed.

He’s tired.

He’s on that cusp of tipsy and not.

And he _really_ liked that smile Karol gave him.

Harry feels his stomach _churn_ like butterflies as he thinks of it again. There's a small groan, embarrassed. He's twenty-one. Karol's _sixteen_.

“I’m such a creep.”

**Author's Note:**

> All Comments are Appreciated!


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